Bianca
Bianca watched George stalk away through the laboratory door. That turned out better than expected, she thought. He had practically forced her into finding a cure and once a new contract was drawn up, George was hers for the rest of his days. Sitting on the edge of her desk, she chewed at the inside of her cheek. It was careless having the serum ready; thank God she'd deflected his attention.
She was glad to have remembered the disease, remembered that it exhibited many of the same symptoms that George would develop as the virus carrier in the serum made its inroads. He was not nearly far enough into the change to be controlled should he ever discover what was really happening. Crass he might be, but he was also intelligent. Her forehead pulled into deep ridges. She needed time. Slowly the frown disappeared. Opening the drawer where she kept the Dakota dossier, she grabbed the file and headed for the rear exit. As she stepped into the early evening glow, she could hear Dvorak's Polonaise.
Taking a deep breath, she flung open the bungalow door and entered the warmth of her sister's music. Mouth drawn tight, she stalked to the table.
The girl jumped up from her chair. "What's wrong?"
"George is what's wrong." Bianca tossed the folder onto the table, jerked out a chair and sat down. "Over the past several weeks, he's been exhibiting symptoms that reminded me of Multiple Sclerothenia Myositis—a disease that's so uncommon we could only read case studies in medical school. I made a tissue test today just to set my mind at ease."
"And?"
"It is, in fact, MSM."
With deft words, Bianca painted a bleak future for George Kayman. A future that included the grisly body changes that had already begun to take place. She concluded with, "The worst part is the effect of the virility serum on MSM. Once I determined he had the disease, I checked my medical references for anything that might offer some relief and there it was. The main ingredient used in the serum actually accelerated the disease process." Bianca pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger—rubbed gently. Her voice, when she resumed, sounded tired, without life. "God forgive me. If I had only known."
From the corner of her eye, Bianca saw her sister take a step backward, a look of horror on her face. "Poor Mr. Kayman," Sefura whispered. "Does he know?"
"About his condition, yes. About the serum, no, and I won't tell him, at least not yet. You mustn't either. He's so angry about the illness that I don't know what he might do if he knew the shots had brought it on so fast."
"Can you fix it?"
"I don't know. I'm going to try. The problem is, I have to find a lab assistant who can keep him calmed down enough to give me the time I'll need."
"Maybe I can help, Bee."
Bianca vehemently shook her head. "Out of the question, Sef. His temper is too volatile. I can't let you take that risk."
"George wouldn't harm me. I know he wouldn't. We've spent a lot of time together and he seems to really like me."
"That may be, but right now George hates the world and everyone in it." She waved a hand in dismissal. "As I said, you are out of the question. I need someone big enough and strong enough to restrain him if necessary."
"Bee—please! I know Mr. Kayman. He doesn't need a strong arm, he needs someone to talk to and he trusts me. I know he does."
Bianca tapped a finger against her lower lip, her gaze focused on Sefura's face. At last she said, "He does seem to mellow out whenever you're around. We could try it, I suppose, but if he gives you any trouble at all you're out of there. Understand?"
The girl nodded. "He won't, Bianca. I know he won't."
"Just until school starts, though. By that time, the palace will be ready for us to move into and George will have more privacy while I try to get this problem resolved."
"It's settled then," Sefura said. "You've just hired yourself an assistant. Now, what exactly do you want me to do?"
Bianca glanced at the Dakota dossier lying on the table. "Besides keeping George company, you could help me find something," she said thoughtfully. "I'm trying to put together a genetic report on the BH Gene. I have most of the information, but there appears to be something I'm missing. At Victoria Jensen's wedding, an elderly man made a comment that Victor Dakota got more than he bargained for when the twins were born." She picked up the folder. "There may be a clue in all this mess that can tell us what he meant. See if you can find anything. Okay?"
Sefura grabbed the folder and plopped down on the floor. "There was an article I read before that I thought was pretty interesting. It was in those news clippings I sorted." She shuffled through the papers. "They aren't here."
"They must have dropped out into the drawer." Bianca leaned down and ruffled Sefura's hair. "I'll find them tomorrow, Sef. There's nothing in those old clippings anyway. I've read them dozens of times."
Stepping into the kitchen, she ran water into the coffeepot. "You just focus on those pages of research, okay?" she said. "That ought to keep your mind busy for a long time." Not hearing so much as a grunt in answer, she poked her head around the corner. Chin cupped by both hands, Sefura was immersed in the first page.
For a moment, Bianca saw the bright smile of trust flashed by a six year old on her first day of school. I would never lie to you, Sef. The long ago words echoed in her head and a surprising twinge of guilt gnawed at the corner of her mind. With an impatient toss of her head, she put the image from her mind, turned the brew switch to on, and headed down the hall.
Sefura doesn't need to be around when the change really begins to show, she thought. Once that starts, I can handle George without any help. She nodded to herself. Tomorrow, I'll find the most exclusive private girl's school available. She won't like it, but it will be the best thing for her. Do her more good than palaces and sports cars.
She turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature, her thoughts fastened on Raphael Munoz and his San Francisco palace. Their palace. Raborman millions could have purchased any mansion in the world—except the church-bestowed residence of a Cardinal-turned-Pope. Those last brief moments at the airport had changed all that. Now the bluff residence belonged to her as surely as did the owner himself.
Rubbing soap on the bath brush, she envisioned his face, his gentle hands, his naked, eager strength. Her body tingled at the image and she felt her nipples harden. The brush became a punishing weapon as she furiously scrubbed her arms, her legs, her back and chest. Suddenly, she paused—it didn't come! The driving, gnawing hunger didn't come. In its place was a strange sensation; passion choosing to wait.
It was time to move off the island. From now on, they would need all the privacy they could get: she, George—and Raphael.